As I was there to honor Adriana, and show support to my orphaned cousin, I would never call any attention away from the purpose of the gathering. But it hurt so bad, knowing that Brann had grown up living in fear of someone who claimed to love him (his father, my grandfather). While Brann's extreme and final actions were.... extreme and final .... they did not come from nowhere. I remember hearing him scream as my grandfather beat him and his wife pleading with him to stop. His wife, my step-grandmother.
I've had to go back and censor [this very large part] of the story because saying the words out loud brought some hell down on my head. I can handle a LOT of hell, but I have literally exhausted my emotional strength with very little time for recouping. So to give myself a little of that, I redacted part of the story. Which in no way changes the truth under the black marker.
My aunt Murray shared with me a quote a long time ago. It was this:
What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.
So when the time came for me to honor my uncle Brann, I did so by telling a truth. And by God, the world indeed split open. Then, in the wake and fallout of the world-splitting, in this age of #metoo and telling our truths bravely, I actually acquiesced by removing the post, and then further by actually APOLOGIZING for saying out loud what was already visible through the rift. I had a very, very good reason for doing so. But at the same time I'm FUCKING PISSED at myself for letting ME down.